


The Training Challenge

by Strength_in_pain



Series: John and his boys [21]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Winchester and Sam Winchester Fight, Gen, Kid Dean Winchester, Kid Sam Winchester, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Sassy Dean Winchester, Sassy Sam Winchester, Training, Weechesters, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 23:27:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16820581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strength_in_pain/pseuds/Strength_in_pain
Summary: “If you can pass a series of tests, then I’ll let you off a week of a training.”That did the trick. Sam’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Seriously?”“Sure.” John smiled, “but you’ll be competing against Dean in these challenges.Or,Sam is mad that Dean keeps winning in training so his Dad creates a series of challenges.





	The Training Challenge

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys. I hope you enjoy this little story i’ve whipped up. It was more difficult because I had to do some research on guns and supernatural lore. Lol, I hope no one sees my search history. They’ll think i’m insane. ;)

> **Field two miles away from a dirt motel in a little town in Rhode Island. June, 1993.**
> 
> **Dean 14, Sam 10.**

“Ow! Dean!” Sam exclaimed, stumbling back on the blue mat, gripping his sure-to-be bruised cheek. 

“A little slow today, Sammy boy. Try to keep up.” 

Dean reached a hand out and helped his little brother up. As soon as Sam was standing they went back to sparring with each other. Dean was throwing light jabs and punches at him while Sam ducked, and moved away, but Dean got the upper hand. He shoved his brother back nice and hard. Sam spun to regain his balance, miraculously managing to not fall, but Dean mercilessly shoved him again and Sam fell flat on his butt. 

“Ow! Dad!” Sam screamed, this time looking over to his father who was watching them closely with a stopwatch. John shook his head, throwing the stopwatch down, letting it swing around his neck while he walked over to them. He reached out to Sam, helping the younger boy up. 

“You need to work on your defense skills. Remember parrying, it’s like blocking, but your slightly deflecting your opponent’s punch away with your hand.” John explained. 

“Are you kidding me?” Sam asked, going rabid. He flailed his arms in Dean’s direction, “He’s like twice my size, and he hit me! He got me in the face.”

“Because you didn’t block him.” John said. He crossed his arms over his chest. Honestly, for someone as smart as Sammy, he should know how to block by now. 

“I tried!” Sam shouted. “I’ve been trying. But he’s bigger than me.” Sam was exasperated. Hell he’s been exasperated all week. He had two tests in school, a dodgeball game at gym, then training when he came home which consisted of a four mile run, sparring with his big brother, and target practice. Then at night he had to do his homework cause he wanted to pass school and on top of it all, his Dad expected him to do research reports on the latest lore. Screw his life. He’s ten years old and he’s being run to the ground. Sam’s hands went to his head and he grabbed a large chunk of hair, pulling at it.

John stared at his son, clearly not amused. “There are a lot of monsters and demons out there that will be bigger than you. If you can’t block your own brother, how do you expect to block them?” 

“I’ll shoot them.” Sam said, visibly seething, “I can’t exactly shoot my brother, all though I wouldn’t mind doing it if you would let me.” He said, sending Dean a venomous glare. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Dean asked. A second later he met the same fate Sam did earlier, as his father shoved him back on his ass so hard that Dean could have sworn he could hear his tail bone crack. But it didn’t. 

“Ugggghh.” He groaned from his place on the mat. “Daaaaaad.” 

Cautiously, he looked up at his father from behind a few sweaty stands of hair that fell in his face. John’s hooded eyes bore into Dean’s. 

“Watch your mouth, boy.” 

“Yes sir.”

John lifted him up, patting his back and dusting his shoulder, as if to say, shake it off. Sam stood behind John with the most amused expression on his dimpled little face. He even managed a tiny “Ha. ha.” When Dean saw it, he glowered giving his brother the death glare. Of course, that made Sam even more amused. 

“Awww. What’s the matter, Dean? It’s not so fun getting shoved on your ass, is it?” 

“Want me to wipe that grin off your face, boy wonder?”

“Wouldn’t you like to try.” Sam said, stepping closer to his older brother. _Kid has balls_ , Dean had to admit. 

“Actually, I really would.” He replied, stepping forward so the two were standing face-to-face. Dean was looking down on Sam because he was a few inches taller. 

“Boys. Settle down. You still have target practice after this.” John pointed directly at Sam, “And your going to stay here and practice until you properly block your brother.” 

“But i’m tired.” Sam whined. 

“Sucks to be you.” Dean snapped. 

“What crawled up your ass?” Sam had perpetual frown on his face. Frankly, it seemed like Sam always had a frown on his face these days and Dean was freaking sick of it. 

“Oh gee, I don’t know, maybe a whiny little bitch crawled up my ass, cause he doesn’t know how to defend himself from a simple right hook.” 

“That’s it.” 

“Come at me, Sam. Let’s go!” 

Sam began his advance, hands held high. Once he got within range, he threw a cross at Dean’s head. Dean smirked as he dipped out of the way, and wrapped his hand around the back of the kid's head, pulling down sharply and forcing him to splay out his hands to keep from face-planting. Dean’s eyes flashed at the opening and threw a knee into the boy's face, watching him drop to the ground.

“That look like it hurt, Sammy.” he mocked, “what else you got?” 

Sam shook his head as he rose to his feet. “Bite me.”

“Nah. I don’t really go for whiny geek boys.”

Again, Dean waited until Sam swung and missed, before starting to drag the kid's head back down. Sam started to focus on Dean, and the hand holding his head down instead of taking swipes at him. He pressed on Dean’s hand until he was forced to let go. Hey hey, the kid can learn! Not that it mattered, Dean would simply switch from one side to the other as Sam would knock off one side or the other, leaning his weight down into his head and neck, forcing Sam hold them both up. Soon he slowed down, his resistance becoming subdued.

Dean smirked. "Aww what's the matter, Sammy? I heard you were some kind of stamina master."

“Shut. Up.” Sam growled, wincing as Dean got him in the chest. “Stop hitting me!” 

Sam lunged at Dean with a small adrenaline rush. He struck his brother’s cheek. Dean snickered softly. 

“Oh you shouldn’t have done that.” Dean proceeded to tackle Sam’s stomach, holding him around the waist. Within a minute, Sam was laying flat on his back. 

“How’s it feel to be lying on your back? You’re in that position so much, I bet you like it. You probably bottom don’t you?” 

Sam stood slowly, huffing and puffing, "So…y-you’ve…been having a lot of wet dreams lately, huh? Who is it this week? Loni Anderson? No, no, Farrah Faucett.”

"I'm sorry, what's that? You want me to keep hitting you till you can't stand?" Dean shrugged. "If you say so.” 

Sam growled as he charged forward, swinging for Dean. He found himself pushed toward the ground again as Dean put pressure on him. His brother sat on top of him. Throwing short uppercuts into Sam’s face. But the punches were very soft, nothing that would actually hurt Sam physically, same can’t be said for his pride. Sam tried to fight his older brother’s arms, but he couldn’t stop the assault. Finally, Dean stopped when his Dad blew the whistle. 

Stepping back, Dean stood to the side while his Dad helped Sam to his feet. 

“So what did you learn from this?” John asked, brushing Sam off, ruffling his hair softly. 

“Dean’s an ass.”

“Dad didn’t ask what you already knew, he asked what you learned.”

Sam was seeing red. If the vein popping out of his neck wasn’t an indication of his anger, the flaring nostrils would be. 

“Dean baited me. He tired me out, then he moved in for the kill when I couldn't defend myself anymore."

John gave the kid a slow clap. "Bravo champ. Listen, you control your head and you control your body and you’ll be set. You lean on Dean and he’ll tired out. Try it out next time.” 

Sam huffed, crossing his arms. “I would if Dean wasn’t my opponent. But he is. So he knows my strategy.”

“Oh my God. Stop complaining already.” Dean hissed. 

John contemplated his youngest for a moment. He'd been working with, or beating on, whichever you prefer, the kid for about a week or so now. The boy seemed to be picking it up pretty well, and John figured it was time to put some of the theory into practice. Besides, he couldn’t take another day of Dean and Sam arguing. 

“Tell you what. If you think you have enough skills from all of your training we should put you to the test.”

Sam expression was skeptical to say the least. John couldn’t help but smile. This was going to be an interesting week after all. 

“If you can pass a series of tests, then I’ll let you off a week of a training.” 

That did the trick. Sam’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Seriously?” 

“Sure.” John smiled, “but you’ll be competing against Dean in these challenges. But Dean won’t know your strategy or your weaknesses because he won’t know what the challenge is, nor will he be sparring with you.”

Sam nodded in understanding. “Sounds fair so far.”

“Good.” John said. “But there is one catch.”

Sam knew it was too good to be true. How could he actually get a week off of training. It just wasn’t the John Winchester way. 

“If you don’t win 2 out of the 3 challenges, then you have to spar with Dean everyday next week and work on your defenses without complaining. Deal?” 

“Oh please, God, let him lose.” Dean muttered quietly to himself. 

Sam thought it over for a few minutes, but He hastily decided this was a fantastic idea. Anything that could get him out of training was a good idea. All he has to do was win. “Deal.” He exclaimed, shaking his father’s hand earnestly. 

“Tomorrow will be the first challenge. For now, it’s off to the shooting range. Both of you. Remember what I taught you about weapon safety.”

“Yes sir.” They both called out as they were running down the field to get to the targets. 

Ironically, the next day, the first challenge was with firearms. Dean and Sam had to move through various stages of an obstacle course, while maintaining the control to fire with precision but avoid hitting the wrong targets.The person with the most bullseyes on the correct targets wins. 

Dean was smirking once he heard the rules. Sam wasn’t surprised. Dean had always been a good shot, but Sam was more than determined than ever to be perfect. 

Dean and Sam stood next to one another, both with a pistol in their hands and a rifle slung over their backs. John stood off to the side. 

“Ready. On your mark. Get set.” John blew through the whistle indicating the start of the challenge. 

Dean and Sam took off running to the first set of targets. Sam winced when he realized the first target was a hostage stage. He had to hit the red swinger plate and not the torso plate – hitting the black torso plate would result in a time penalty. Sam fired and managed to not hit the hostage. However, he did forget to reload while transitioning between spots which resulted in a slide lock reload, costing him time. 

Dean took the lead. He was the first to aim his pistol at the target. He had to get low and shoot under a barricade. Sam tried to get low like Dean, but he accidentally slipped and slid to his rear. But he just kept on shooting like he intended to do that. Extra style points right? The targets were small, and swung after getting hit. So the second shot had to be more precise, but that delayed him. He had to wait out the swinging.

It amazed Sam how accurate and precise Dean’s shots were. His brother was truly terrifying with a gun. Perhaps Sam was too preoccupied with Dean’s performance that he couldn’t focus on his own. Or maybe he was a little in his head, psyching himself out. But either way, Sam was not pleased with his pistol performance on this stage. He was just shooting terribly.

The distance between Stage 2 and Stage 3 had the majority of obstacles that needed to be navigated through. Dean had once again taken the lead, but not by far. 

There was a small river that Dean and Sam had to cross. But there was a tree trunk they could use as a balance beam to walk on. Dean was halfway over the bean, when Sam started to walk on it too. 

When Dean got to the 3rd stage of targets, he looked worn out. There were a number of steel targets that had to be hit twice at a distance from about 75 yards to about 350 yards for the rifle, and about 20 yards with the pistol. Dean sighed miserably, and began using the rifle. 

Sam was pleased to finally catch up with his brother. He hit the majority of the distant targets whereas Dean missed quite a few. At last, Sam felt like he was finally back in the game. 

The final stage had Dean and Sam start with their rifles unloaded and slung. They had to climb a tree, get situated, load their rifles, and engage a set of targets at about 150 yards and another at about 300 yards. Dean’s younger years of tree climbing gave him an advantage on this stage. He was much better at climbing things than Sam was. 

In the end, Dad declared Dean the victor because he had hit more targets in the earlier stages than Sam had. 

“Should’ve focused on your pistol skills yesterday, son. You very well might have won.” John said. 

“Whatever.” Sam declared, unloading his weapons. “What’s the next challenge?”

“I will tell you later tonight. For now, I want you and Dean to clean the guns, then eat some breakfast. You have school in two hours.” John said. He walked away from the boys, towards the targets. Sam figured he was going to cleaning them up. 

Glancing scornfully at the weapon in his hand, Sam groaned. He heard his brother’s footsteps and turned his face the other direction. He didn’t need Dean’s smartass comments right now. 

“Hey Sammy.” Dean said with a surprisingly soft voice. “You did pretty good out there, today. A little more practice and you might actually be ready to go on a hunt with me and Dad.”

“I don’t want to go on a hunt with you and Dad. I want to stay home and study. And stop calling me Sammy, okay? It’s Sam.”

Dean’s forehead wrinkled, “Dude, what’s wrong with you?” 

“Everything’s wrong, Dean! For starters I’m here, in a field, behind a motel, training instead of at soccer practice like any other normal kid.”

“Sammy.”

“It’s Sam.”

“Fine, Sam.” Dean spat in a ridiculously deep voice. Then he regained his slightly higher-pitched tone as he told his brother off in the earnest, “You wanna know why you don’t get to play like other kids? Why Dad makes us train? Because your going to be better prepared than all the other kids. So when an evil-son-of-a-bitch comes after you, wherever you are, you’ll know how to kill it. And you won’t get eaten alive like all the other stupid little kids that don’t even know how to load a gun.”

“You know, I am so sick of you and Dad going on about how this training is good for me. You know what, he’s controlling us, Dean, and it sucks.” 

“Whatever, Sammy. Let’s just clean the guns and eat breakfast then you can get-off at school.” 

“I hate you.” Sam spat, though he didn’t mean it. He regretted it too, when he saw the look of hurt cross Dean’s face. 

“I’m sorry, I just-“

“Forget it.” Dean said shortly. He started walking towards the motel, ignoring Sam the rest of the way. That was fine with Sam. He didn’t want to hear Dean’s crap anyway. 

They dumped their weapons on the motel bed and started cleaning. Sam had to grab another cleaning rod, but Dean threw him a pack of cotton patches. 

“You put the gun-slick solvent in, I’ll brush.” Dean muttered. Sam agreed, that way he could finish faster and avoid another argument. 

Once they were done cleaning the weapons, they packed them back in the impala, then they grabbed a few slices of toast. Soon Dad was back and he ate something light before taking his boys to school. 

Sam spent the next eight hours in a classroom, happily expanding his knowledge and absorbing information like a sponge. Dean spent the next eight hours under the bleachers with a cheerleader. He would go to class tomorrow. If he was even still here tomorrow. 

After school, John had the second challenge set up for his boys. The motel room was full off research books on every supernatural creature in the world. 

“You have an hour to read as much as you can. Then, I will quiz you on the lore. We’ll do it like a good old-fashioned spelling-bee.” 

Wincing in disgust, Dean walked over to the tiny desk and whined, “what’s fun about a spelling-bee?” 

“Nothing, son. But lore is essential for hunters. You need to know how-“

“-How to kill the sons-of-bitches.” Dean finished for his father. “I know, Dad. But it sucks.” 

“I think it’s great.” Sam said. 

“You would you little dork-muncher.” 

“F-off.” Sam said raising his middle finger. 

“Put that away.” John scolded. He strides to Sam’s side and smacks the back of his head. 

“Ow. Don’t.” 

“Quit saying that word. Both of you! Or I swear, I’ll beat your asses.” 

“I didn’t do anything.” Dean cried, his hands flying out. 

“Get reading.” John started the timer. 

Sam was certain he would win this challenge. It was, after all, up his alley. Sam loved to read. He loved putting pieces of knowledge together to figure out why something was the way it was. Basically, Sam loved understanding things. And research helped him understand everything. Not to mention, Dean was the complete opposite. He hated reading. He was a man of action. Plus, Dean only read like one book during the whole hour. When the timer went off Sam had finished skimming seven. He already knew most of the information. He used that hour to review. 

“All right, boys. Let’s start with, Dean, since he’s older. Ready boy?” 

“Yep.” Dean popped the ‘p.’ 

“The Anasazi Symbols when placed in a certain pattern is protection against evil. What is the pattern?” 

“Circle.” Dean said very unenthusiastically. 

“Good job. Sam. You’re turn. Where do shape-shifters like to layer up?” John asked. 

“Underground. Preferably the sewers.” 

John nodded. It went back to Dean. This went on for a while, and Sam was actually surprised at how much information his older brother knew. For someone who never seemed to study, Dean knew a hell of a lot about supernatural lore. _Freakin’ golden boy._

“Rakshasas have a common weakness. Any crossbow blessed by a priest will kill them instantly.” Dean recited from memory. 

“Excellent. Sam, what are the two specific types of banshees?” 

Sam’s mind blanked. “Um? One that uses supernatural screaming to drive humans insane and bash their heads in? And the other is... um...” Sam paled. Why did he not know the second type of banshee? 

“Don’t know?” John asked. 

“Wait!” Sam shouted. He wasn’t ready to give up yet. “Give me a second.” 

A few seconds passed and nothing came to him. “Okay, What is it?”

John turned to Dean, “you know?”

“Yes sir. The other banshee wails in the night as a warning that someone is about to die, but is not malevolent.” 

“That’s correct. Ok, Dean your turn again. In ancient times, Sirens lived on islands and forced sailors to do what?”

It was Dean’s turn to be stumped. “I don’t know, sir.”

“Sam? You know?” 

“Was it to chase them and drive their ships onto the rocks?” 

“That’s correct. Good job.” John asked Sam another question. The heated battle went on and on for hours until finally, Dean tripped up a witch’s ability to hex and curse other mortals. He didn’t know the specific witch-killing-spell. 

“Damn those creepy, dirty, unsanitary little witches.” Dean muttered as John declared Sam the winner. 

It all comes down to the third challenge. And if Sam was right about his father’s tactics, he knew the worst was yet to come.

Sam spent the rest of the evening gloating about beating Dean in the second challenge. He managed to piss his older brother off enough to earn him a smack across the back of the head. When Sam tried to concentrate on his homework, Dean flung books at him. Sam tossed one back at Dean, but it missed and hit the wall which was dangerously close to the window. After that, they both ignored each other until dinner. 

“Hey Dad,” Dean asked that night during dinner, “if I win, can I have permission to kick Sammy’s ass?” 

He jumped as Sam’s foot connected with his shin. Then, he returned the favorite and soon they were having a full out kicking war. 

“Stop it, both of you.” John yelled. With a grave expression, he pointed directly at his eldest. 

“No,You are not hitting your little brother. And you know what? You better stop harassing him. Your job is to protect him. As of now, it looks like he needs protection from you.” 

Dean dropped his gaze. He looked thoroughly scolded as he sat hunched, arms crossed over his chest and a big fat pout on his lips. Sam smirked, _good_. 

“And you -“ John pointed at Sam. 

Oh shit. 

“Stow it. This attitude of yours is not cute. I’m sick of hearing you complain about Dean. Yes he’s your older brother. Yes he’s better at some of the training techniques but that doesn’t give you a right to treat him poorly. He’s taking care of your ass, so you are gonna show him some respect.”

Dean’s lips curled up slightly, but he tried to suppress his smile. Sam felt humiliated, face reddening in anger as well as embarrassment. He couldn’t wait until the last challenge. He needs one week away from his family. He will lock himself in his room and blast Beethoven’s fifth symphony until Dean is pounding on his door begging him to stop. 

Six in the morning, Dean, Sam and John stood outside. This place they went to, John had to pay to get in. So they knew it was the real deal. 

"An obstacle course?" Dean asked, taking in the sight of the equipment stretching all the way across the field. "Don’t you think it’s a little much?"

"Wow. That looks… really hard." Sam added. 

John shook his head, “it’s a great way to train your stamina. Plus it might be fun.” 

“Fun?!" Dean squeaked. "You think this is gonna be fun?! It's gonna be torture. Brutal torture.” 

John laughed at him. "Relax, Deano," he replied. "You'll be fine."

Dean was not fine and neither was Sam. The two boys started and stayed pretty neck and neck for the majority of the race, but half way through it started raining which made everything harder. 

There were now mixtures of mud pits, walls, and slick, rain soaked hay bales. Sam lost his footing while leaping over a row of hay and slid in the mud on the other side. He fell heavily to the ground. Wincing, Sam tried to push himself up, but the sharp jolt in his ankle warned him that he was better off crawling. 

Dean, ever vigilant of his little brother’s progress and health, immediately noticed his fall and subsequent injury. 

“Are you okay, Sammy?” He screamed above the pouring rain. 

“I think I may have twisted my ankle.” Sam shouted back. 

“Can you walk?” Dean asked, now leaping off of the hay stack and standing next to his little brother. 

“Y-Yeah.” Sam said shakily. “It’s not that bad. I think it’s just bruised.”

Dean nodded. He helped Sam hobble past the haystacks and over to the last wooden bridge. 

They crossed together, Dean holding Sam. It didn’t matter that they’d technically tied, they were just high off the challenge. Their success over the course as a whole made them excited. Mud-covered hugs were exchanged and gleaming white teeth could still be seen broadly beneath mud coated faces. 

The next couple of minutes passed in a blur as they were shuffled off the course and towards the medical tent so that Sam’s ankle could be examined. Luckily, Sam’s ankle was only twisted not broken. John still decided to carry his youngest boy to the car. He didn’t care about the wet mud soaking his shirt until he got in the car. 

It smelled horrible. As he drove the boys home, John rolled the windows down, but the damp mildew rain seeped through his nostrils. 

The first thing he does as soon as he’s pulled the car up in front of their room is shove the car door open, before he even twists off the ignition. He swings his knees around so at least half of him is in direct access to fresh air before he turns an assessing gaze to the back seat. 

Dean’s looking mildly sullen, arms crossed and face like a failed beauty treatment; mud mask crackling over his face and plastering his hair to his forehead, hardened helmet-like over his crown. John’s pretty sure that changing Dean’s expression from a frown right now would open up a multitude of fissures in the mask. Above-the-neck seems the driest part of him, though; the rest of his clothes soaked a dark, unspeakable brown.

“You two did, good today.” John said. “But Dean technically won. If it wasn’t for him, you wouldn’t have made it to the end.” 

Sam sighed. “Yeah, I know. I’ll keep training and sparring with Dean. He’s not so bad.” Sam said, looking at his older brother with a big grin. 

Dean ruffled his muddy hair. “I have some good news for ya, Sammy. You can’t spar with me until your ankle heals, so I guess you have a week off training anyway.” 

Sam bounced against the seat, and his eyes were bright in his equally-as-filthy face. “Yes! This is the best thing ever!” 

John sighs. At least the motel they’re in is the kind with unlimited hot water. 

“Go shower.”

“I can’t get out of the car.” Sam whispered, pointing to his ankle. John slammed the driver door and yanked open the backseat. He had just about lost his patience but then he saw Sammy’s hair was styled in a mohawk, probably courtesy of Dean and his heart melted. Sometimes his boys do stupid things that crack him up. 

John leans over with barely even a pause, and lifts Sam up out of the car. His ten-year-old was big. He was old enough to train, old enough to use weapons, old enough to fight with his big brother, but he still wasn’t too old for John to carry. It was moments like these that John needed to hold on to. 


End file.
